Challenge #00747 - B016: What a Voice
Following in from the last one, the musical shenanigans of Francoeur and Kurt.
Three weeks in…
Audiences loved the acrobatics. Carlotta could have done without the post-show bickering, especially now that Todd was picking up enough French to cuss in.
But this time, the froggy mutant slunk off into the depths of backstage, distancing himself from the slightly demonic Kurt.
Carlotta followed him. She didn’t understand much English and he didn’t understand much French, but she knew instinctively that he needed a mother. And it was backstage, between the flats, that she heard the voice of an angel.
The song was strange to her, but the sentiment was clear. Lonely and missing home.
“…and much have I seen. Dark distant mountains with valleys of green. Vast painted deserts the sun sets on fire. As it carries me back to the Mull of Kintire…”
He almost jumped out of his skin when Carlotta hugged him.
”[I wasn’t doin’ nuthin’,]“ said Todd, ineffectively struggling to get free. He wasn’t trying at all. Just making a show of wriggling loose for anyone who might be watching.
He wouldn’t understand her, but she could at least try to tell him. “Your voice is magic. Don’t hid your light under a bushel.”
*
Much, much later, when they were done with their cross-time adventures, Todd sidled up to Kurt and asked, “Yo. What’s ‘Votre voix est magique’ mean?”
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Challenge #00746 - B015: Unlikely Meetings
Kurt Wagner meets Francoeur. How do Todd and Emile get on?
It was the first show that the audience ran out on. But, to be completely fair, it was the first one that included the surprise appearance of a blue, fuzzy demon and some kind of humanoid amphibian thing.
Carlotta was ticked, of course. Especially at the fact that both creatures could stick to walls and ceilings, far out of reach of the diminutive cabaret hostess. There was something of a flap about what to do.
Then it turned out that the fuzzy demon spoke French. And German, Swiss, Dutch, a smattering of Italian, and enough Russian and Spanish to cuss in.
Most of which he rattled through as Francoeur approached, bare-handed and bare-footed so he, too, could cling to nonstandard surfaces.
“We’re mostly harmless, I promise!”
Francoeur startled with a dovelike coo.
The froggy one, now hiding behind the demon, rattled off something that could have been English in a kind light, but was simply unintelligible to everyone else in the room. The demon could understand him and immediately snapped, “Clappe!”
There were intense, topsy-turvy negotiations by the chandelier, and then Francoeur set them up at a table.
“Yofuzzywhattheheck?” mumbled the frog.
The blue demon - named Kurt - explained in two languages that he and his associate - named Todd - were temporarily temporal refugees. They came from the very far distant future of 2012. One hundred years in the future. And possibly another dimension, as a seven-foot-tall singing flea would definitely have caught a Professor Xavier’s attention.
Which lead to the question of how to house them until such time as whatever brought them there decided to take them back.
Neither of the mutants were at all musical. Kurt had physical limitations and Todd had more affinity with mechanical things than anything that made music. But they were acrobatic and, after a few training sessions, came up with something that sort of fit in with the rest of the cabaret.
Which lead to the problems of lodging.
Kurt shed. Todd was sticky, and allergic to anything that would help him be clean. Emile came to the rescue and offered his projection room as emergency quarters.
*
“What did you do to my projector?” Emile wailed.
“Uh…” said Todd. “[Got bored an’ fixed it.]”
Kurt, of course, provided translations.
“IT WASN’T BROKEN!”
“[Could'a fooled me, yo. That thing was whack. It works way better, now.]” He gave a demonstration, which caused some uproar in the Parisiennes who had wandered in.
The world in general and Paris in particular was not ready for three-dimensional, full hologram technology with surround sound.
Emile, at least, was rather glad to see them return to the realm they started from.
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Responses to “Fright of a Lifetime” (2-4)
Ideas that this mash-up sparked:
1. Krumm is out lurking and finds Abner’s trough. Meets Abner, and cue unlikely friendship.
2. The monster trio meets the Sewer King. ‘Nough said.
3. The Gromble watches the results of the Halloween ‘War of the Worlds’ debacle; is grudgingly impressed.
[AN: Once again, I have to remind my readers to PLEASE SUBMIT PROMPTS ONE AT A TIME. My own absent-mindedness and technological incompetence means that I have to do multiple stories at once. On one hand, it means I get ahead on my story count, on the other hand - increased risk of extreme wrist pain. Yes, I know it’s a pain in your ass, but I’d rather have your temporary inconvenience than my actual physical injury]
(#00727 - A362 - #00730 - A365)
2. Abner meets Krumm
Something smelled delicious. He was supposed to be on reconnaissance, but Krumm was also hungry. Which was why he left his stake-out spot to investigate.
Someone had left out some premium slop in a long, shallow container. Krumm couldn’t help but help himself. Delicious.
A rhythmic grunting came from his left. A fellow connoisseur also enjoying the slop.
“They got really nice eats, here,” said Krumm. “Just like mother used to spoil.”
The pink creature looked at him, grunted again, and went back to eating.
Krumm could relate. This stuff was too good to waste with casual conversation.
It took him several months of illicit return visits to realise that his dining partner was actually a surface animal.
3. Monsters V Sewer King
They had been watching him for some time. It wasn’t often that the humans invaded the monster world, let alone stayed, so classifying this one became something of a problem.
And there was the fact that one of Dr Buzz Kutt’s previous attempts at a human suit was missing with its occupant inside.
“If he is a monster in a human suit,” speculated Oblina, “then I’m very glad you rescued me in time.”
“He smells like one of us,” said Krumm, odour expert.
“He looks and talks like a human,” whispered Ickis. “I say we avoid him just to be safe.”
Krumm had an idea. “Hey. Can you do that brain-tickling thing to find out if he is a human or not?”
“Well it would rather resolve things, since I can’t tickle the brains of fellow monsters.”
“Great,” said Ickis. “Then all we have to do is wait for him to fall asleep.”
Which was, when they got down to it, a really boring stake-out. Apparently the Sewer King had sleep disorders and relied heavily on a human beverage called Kaffi.
4. Gromble V Helga
“It is, it is,” the Gromble cooed to himself. “It is just human children in masks. And that one…” he pointed to the leader on the screen. “I know that one.”
He consulted the files. Of course it was Helga Pataki. The scariest resident of the surface world shy of Montgomery Burns. He recorded the footage she broadcast, and created a highlights and lowlights list. Not that there were very many lowlights.
And, because he was a teacher who used shame and fear to motivate his students, he used it as an example of how pathetic his student body was.
“This is the work of a human,” he informed them. “One human, with some minor conspirators, managed to terrify an entire city. Whereas most of you… CAN’T MAKE A SMALL CHILD CRY! What are you doing wrong? Well… why don’t you study this, and give me a twelve-page essay on all the details?”
All of them shrank in their places and wailed in anguish.
Oh yes. Life was good.
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Response to “The Fright of a Lifetime” (1)
Oblina tries her hand at scaring Helga, but studies her first. Recognizes her interaction with Arnold from her time in Dr. Buzzcut’s Human Suit. Take it from there!
(#00726 - A361)
The view from the gutter was not wide, but it was educational. Oblina had long since learned to recognise the human by her shoes.
She had somehow suspected that Dr Buzz Kutt’s theories had been in error, but there was living confirmation. She could see and hear Helga verbally abusing a boy and, the second he was out of earshot, turning around and waxing lyrical about how much she was in love with the human.
Human love was crazy.
But it broke her heart to hear it. A girl who thought she was monstrous, scared to leave herself vulnerable to anyone. Afraid to have a softer side because the world was so cruel.
Oblina couldn’t help herself. “Try telling him anonymously,” she said.
*
Helga reacted, jumping up and looking around. “I’LL KILL ANYONE WHO SAYS ANYTHING!” But her fists were primed with no target in sight. She slumped back down. “Great. Now I’m hearing voices.”
“At least it’s good advice,” whispered the voice.
She sighed. “Shows what you know. It’ll end badly. Everything ends badly. I never get anything I deserve.”
“So you fail before you try? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Whatever.” Helga got up again and slouched away. Even the voice in her head didn’t understand… Everything good went to her prettier sisters. And so would Arnold.
But still… an anonymous note. It wouldn’t hurt. Something a lot more subtle than the lurid poetry that they’d found and laughed at.
Two days later, Arnold found a construction paper heart in his locker. It had the words, “I love you, but you won’t look at me.” in neat, anonymous printing.
And she heard how bad it must be for that person, thinking that he couldn’t love them back.
The next day, she left another. This time, it said, “You can’t love Ugly.”
And she heard how Arnold thought nobody was ugly. Not even her.
The day after that, she left a third. “If you really believe in love, meet me under the Big Oak after school. Come alone.”
And she got detention. So she was running late for the meeting in the pouring rain with her sister’s big yellow umbrella.
Please, please, please…
He was still there. Huddled in the shelter of the tree with his coat over his head. Splashed by the mud from passing cars.
She added him to the shelter of her umbrella. “You OK, football-head?”
“Thought I could help somebody. Guess it was a prank.”
“Maybe they got scared. Maybe they got detention. Maybe…” She scrunched up her eyes. Took a deep breath. Bit the bullet. “Maybe she’s right here.”
“…helga?”
“Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I’m almost used to it anyway.”
“That book full of poetry was yours, wasn’t it?”
She dared look at him. He wasn’t judging her. He wasn’t being cruel. He was just asking. “So what if it was. I heard you laughing at it.”
“Gerald did most of the laughing. I was trying to get him to at least tone it down. That stuff was… real. I could tell whoever wrote it… I could tell you were hurting.”
Helga found that her eyes were stinging. “I’m not crying,” she croaked. “Got some rain in my face.”
“It’s okay.” His hand joined hers on the umbrella handle. “You’re allowed to feel things.”
Illogical tears with a crooked smile. “We met under an umbrella. You were the only person in the world who ever gave a fig about me. And all I could do was snap at you.”
“it’s okay. What you get from people is all you know how to give back.” He smiled for her. “I could show you? Being nice isn’t that hard.”
“Being nice makes me invisible.”
“I see you, Helga,” soothed Arnold. “I always see you.”
It rained hard, all the way home. She, too, got splashed with mud. But all of a sudden, it didn’t matter. There was no cold. There was no rain. Just his warmth and the sunshine of his smile.
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Challenge #00709 - A344: The Fright of a Lifetime
‘Hey Arnold!’ meets 'Aaahhh! Real Monsters!’. Go as the Muse moves you.
“It was hideous,” he bawled, “HIDEOUS! I can’t go back there. I just can’t.”
Krumm patted his back.
Oblina soothed, “There, there, darling. It can’t be that bad…”
“You didn’t see it,” Ickis whined. “It had horrible green stuff on its face! And its hair was this awful sunshiny shade of YELLOW and it stuck out of its head like… like…” metaphors failed him. “Like Krumm’s armpit hair.”
“She sounds almost like a monster,” said Oblina. She checked the file.
Helga Pataki. Extremely dangerous. Professionals only.
“Are you going for extra credit from the Gromble again?”
“…maybe?”
*
Helga stomped down the street towards the seven eleven. She was on a mission, and she hated the world.
“Hey Helga,” greeted the love of her life, the superb and scintillating Arnold. “Where you going?”
“It’s none of your business, football-head, but I’m going to get some rat poison. Stupid vermin keepin’ me from my beauty sleep…”
“Oh… kay,” managed Arnold. “Have a good one.”
“DON’T TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE, FOOTBALL-HEAD!”
The instant he was out of sight and listening range, she sighed. He cared! He actually cared!
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Challenge #00649 - A284: Reality? Just a Suggestion
Sara and Pinkie Pie trade recipes
[Since you said Sara, I’m assuming you mean my favourite mutant OC and not her alternate ponysona, Star Wishes. If you meant the ponysona, then re-send the prompt with the right name]
“Wait, so you’re not one of those weird beings from the other side of the magic mirror?”
“No,” said the aqua-coloured human with the brown mane. “I came here through Kazooland. Steam Powered Giraffe showed me the way.”
“Oh…” Twilight Sparkle visibly relaxed. The world, the cosmos, magic as she knew it and whatever else may be in peril was not in peril after all. “And… what are you doing to my kitchen?”
“Centaur porridge,” she grinned. “Pinkie asked and she’s trading a cupcake/muffin recipe for it.”
“Centaurs?”
“Yes. Below the waist, they’re horses, above the waist, they’re humans. And their diet is understandably restricted whilst their appetites are understandably huge. This entire pot…” she helpfully banged a thing that could hold three adult ponies with room to swim, “…would just about accomodate a family of four centaurs.”
“GuesswhatIjustlearned, guesswhat, guesswhat, guesswhat?”
“…did you let her have any sugarcubes?”
“Just a couple. Why?”
Pinkie continued to bounce around like she was seeking to commit self-fission. “The universe is really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really…” gaaaaaaasp… “really, REALLY huge! There’s planets and stars are suns and there’s worlds where reality is a figment of someone else’s imagination and Sara comes from one of them! Isn’t that super-exciting?”
“It’s a weird multiverse,” summarised Sara. She sniffed the contents of the pot. “Hhhmmmmm… this should slow her down.” Sara doled out a bowlful of fragrant porridge and added a generous dollop of cream before she offered it to the bouncing Pinkie. “Try this for size.”
Twilight shrank away as Pinkie fell on her serving as if she were starving.
“Oh that’s delicious! It’s like my tummy is having a party but I really gotta slee–” *thunk*! Pinkie slumped against the table and started to snore.
“It’s the cinnamon,” said Sara. “I always tend to overdo the cinnamon…”
[Muse food remaining: 43. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00583 - A208: Big, Blue and Mostly Harmless
Challenge prompt: Try a MLP / Monster in Paris crossover WITHOUT Fluttershy being the one that shows everyone he’s really a very sweet giant flea.
Cornered. Trapped. Pinned. And no doubt about to be eaten by the Beast from the portal, Rarity hunkered in place and shrieked.
One of its four arms reached inevitably towards her…
…and began carefully combing her mane.
“Jolie petit poney,” cooed a voice that could easily have come from Heaven itself. “Vous êtes perdu? Je suis perdu.” And then he sang.
There was no other accompaniment but the wind in the trees and the noises of the forest, but his song seemed to summon them just when they were needed.
He wasn’t monstrous at all. Even though his clothes were an absolute wreck.
And he was an amazing stylist, putting her mane and tail up in a very intricate set of braids that screamed sophistication whilst also being ready for everything the Everfree Forest could throw at her.
“My goodness. Where did you learn to do all that?”
“Paris,” said the giant flea.
He wasn’t much for words, evidently. At least, not the spoken word. Nevertheless, he deserved better than hunkering in a mouldy old forest.
“I know a place where I can whip up a new suit for you. It’s the very least you deserve, after all you’ve been through.”
Her five friends found her in her salon, trying hats on the monster as he accompanied himself on one of Pinkie’s random guitars [Stowed away in case of a guitar emergency, of course].
“His name is Francoeur,” said Rarity. “And as you can see, he’s completely harmless.”
Francoeur warbled a greeting that was half purr and half chirp. “Jolis poneys…”
“Yes, darling. They’re my friends.”
Twilight sighed. “I suppose we can get him back home, later…” she allowed.
[Muse food remaining: 51. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00582 - A207: Visiting an Ailing Friend
Hatchworth and Fluttershy in the world of SPG
[AN: I almost tossed this and then I realised it was a different prompt]
Hatchworth was certainly an interesting friend. He spoke of interesting things, of humans and dragons and an assortment of interesting beings in a place called Kazooland.
Rather like Equestria, it was part of something bigger, and also made up of smaller realms. And, like Equestria, it thrived on magic.
Fluttershy watched as Hatchworth hammered a road sign into the earth on the other side of the tunnel. He’s left another like it on the Equestria side, pointing helpfully to ‘Snornia’. This one pointed helpfully to ‘Equestria’.
“Oh! There’s Up-grade’s cave.” He added an arrow to the sign post and gestured for Fluttershy to follow. “You’d like Up-grade. She loves po-nies.”
“F-f-ft-for breakfast?” Fluttershy squeaked.
“Non-sense,” chuckled Hatchworth. “Ro-bots don’t eat.”
It was a scary realm, which Hatchworth sung about in a cheerful way. And though the song contained vampires and zombies, it was oddly comforting.
The horde looked fake. It glittered and gleamed l ike it had too much to prove. And, clutching on to it and moaning softly, was a huge… thing… halfway between human-shaped and dragon-shaped. She still wore the remains of what had once been a neat black dress, though she was three times the size of Hatchworth.
Perched near her shoulders was a rough-looking human. No. Not human. He was covered in reddish-bronze scales and had a rainbow of serpents for hair. He was vigorously scratching the dragon’s back.
“That feels better, dunnit?”
The pink metal dragon-thing moaned again. “A little,” she allowed. “All my spinal linkages ache.”
“Side effect of growing a new spine,” said the humanish one. “Ey! Hatchy! We heard you were lost…” He patted the pink dragon and slid down both metal flank and fake horde. And somehow, on the way down, he became more human. Almost. There was still something… dragon-y about him. He knelt and showed Fluttershy his empty hands.
“Hi there, li’l darlin’. Did you help Hatchy get back?”
“…i understood his name was hatchworth…” Fluttershy murmured.
“Aw, she’s adorable,” cooed the transforming human. “It’s okay. I don’t bite. And you’re right. His name is Hatchworth. Hatchy for short.
A new figure appeared, all black and white and a tiny hint of blue. She, too, was larger than life. And came over as strict and severe. She tapped her foot, looked at an invisible watch, and then threw an invisible lasso at Steve and promptly and literally dragged him away.
"Aw c’mon, Bunny… all work and no play…” complained Steve.
“Mime magic,” said Hatchworth. “Mimes are among the ma-ny pseudo-hu-man spe-cies in Ka-zoo-land.”
Fluttershy used Hatchworth as a mobile shield so she could peek in on a weredragon and a mime work at an invisible lab bench to come up with concoctions for a robot who was changing into a full-time dragon.
“You have a very confusing reality,” Fluttershy finally announced once she was done understanding it all.
“It is,” said Hatchworth. “And it’s home.”
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Challenge #00581 - A206: At the Other End of a Tunnel Through Snornia
(( You did say to stop the promptspam when you hit like 70, I think the plan was to try and keep things at a steady level of around 20 instead of spamming all at once and then waiting for things to drop off ))
Prompt: Hatchworth and Fluttershy in Equestria
[AN: The amount of prompts is an ongoing problem. Too many and my readers get bored waiting for any of theirs to turn up. Too few and I start fretting about having enough prompts. ANY clue for a nice stable number would be nice.]
Hatchworth had initially been in Kazooland to visit Upgrade in Snornia. Only to find that the pink dragon-robot-princess was hibernating in order to accelerate her transformation.
He’d left her some more plastic costume jewellery [pink, of course] and went exploring.
And promptly got lost.
*
Fluttershy turned back to reassure Spike, having marvelled at seeing Peewee the baby Phoenix take wing and rejoin his family.
Her comforting words died in her throat when she realised that there was a third… individual… in the clearing.
It stood tall, on two legs like Discord. And it seemed to be made almost entirely out of bronze. It steamed. And ticked.
And smiled.
“Oh…” it murmured. “That was beau-ti-ful.”
Spike said, “What the heck are *you*?”
It raised a red-and-black gloved hand to tip its entire head to them. “My name’s Hatch-worth. I am one of Colo-nel Wal-ter’s Steam Po-wered Au-ton-o-mous Au-tom-a-tons.” He leaned down to murmur, “I’m in the band, now.”
“Oh my goodness,” said Fluttershy.
He grinned at her. “Hel-lo, ma’am,” another tip of his head. “May I ex-plore here? This land looks like so much fun.”
*
It was later. Mayhem had evidently ensued in the form of sandwiches over every level surface. And spiders.
There was a sobbing bronze automaton in the middle of it.
“There, there,” cooed Fluttershy. “It’s all right…”
“…i only wanted to help…” bawled Hatchworth.
Twilight Sparkle vented a noise somewhere between a sigh and a howl to the heavens that life was unfair. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said. “It’s just that lots of ponies don’t like spiders like you do. And maybe every pony would be happier - including the spiders - if all the spiders went… somewhere… else?”
Only Discord thought this was hilarious. They were all still working on his sense of humour.
A steam-filled sigh. “Nobody liked spiders like I do,” he pouted. Then pulled a mandolin and started playing a catchy little tune.
It was like watching Pinkie Pie round up all the Parasprites. The spiders just… danced their way back into the machine’s hatch.
And when he was done singing the Tickly Spider Dance… he put away the mandolin and firmly closed his hatch. “My sand-wich-es are still de-lic-ious.”
“…celestia help me…” Twilight groaned.
“Of course they are!” Pinkie Pie bounced into the scene. “I’ve got everything I need to hold the biggest, bestest sandwich party for the whole town!”
“Yaaaaay!” Hatchworth cheered.
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Challenge #00525 - A150: Not Made to be Broken
FREE DAY!
Of course Steve had heard about the secret weapon code-named Rabbit. It was impossible to not hear about other secret weapons when one is also technically a secret weapon.
This was one of the few he got to meet.
He was used to techies referring to their weapons and vehicles as ‘she’ or ‘he’. He was not used to the pale wraith joining their team as “Rabbit’s chief technician”. He was the palest person Steve had ever seen, which made his black and blue-striped hair all the more startling.
The second thing Steve noticed was the harness he wore outside of his black jumpsuit.
Then his hands moved. “Most people stare at the hair,” said a mechanical voice from the technician’s right shoulder. “Blue Matter took my voice, so I made a new one for the people who can’t be bothered learning sign language. You can speak, by the way. I can hear.”
“Blue Matter?” he said. “Like the kind Colonel Walters Steam Man Band run on?”
“Run with,” said the techie. “Yes. Exactly like that.”
That was his first clue that the military minds behind winning the war were not entirely focussed on what was right for their more… special soldiers. But Steve, being an optimist, had imagined a more advanced model code-named after the Victorian-era copper automaton.
He didn’t actually see her until they were getting on the plane.
She wore loose-fitting paratrooper fatigues. One sleeve fitted with a zipper to make room for her Blue Matter gatling gun. Steve saw it all in that moment. The resigned walk, the thousand-yard stare, the necklace made out of paperclips and the fresh oil streaming slowly from her luminescent eyes.
She didn’t want to be part of this war.
“You’re making her jump out of planes?”
“Not me,” said her techie. Paul. His name was Walter Guy Paul.
Steve sat beside her, all the way to the drop zone. Keeping her company while the rest of the Howling Commandoes ignored her as if she were a piece of ordinance. Reminiscing, where he could, about her days on the stage.
He remembered her from world-of-tomorrow-today style exhibitions and one performance that was a present from his uncle. It was all he could talk about for months. Seven years old, and telling Bucky about every last detail from the Steam Powered Road Show.
“…wish I was b-b-b-b-b-b-back there, now,” sighed Rabbit.
Her stutter was miles worse than it had ever been. Steve shared a Look with Walter Guy Paul.
Steve’s look said, There’s something going wrong with her. She needs help.
Paul’s look said, I know. I can’t stop them long enough to fix her properly.
Which was why he held her hand - the only time he held a fellow Commando’s hand - when it was time to leave the plane.
Their parachutes - all of their parachutes - were army standard. They were not made to support the weight of a steam-powered, copper, clockwork automaton.
And hers… didn’t.
She fell faster than he did. Screamed all the way down. Shot wildly at the enemy and, when she hit… she hit harder. And had the dubious tactical advantage of scattering parts of herself over an area a ten-yard radius.
The plan changed in mid-air. The instant he realised what made Rabbit, the gentle, silly joker of the band such an excellent secret weapon. The United States Armed Forces was treating her like a shrapnel bomb.
Well. The Howling Commandoes were going to treat her like a soldier.
He did not, as the plan stated, immediately assault the enemy encampment. He took down everyone who was shooting at him and then ordered his men to establish a perimeter and gather Rabbit’s scattered parts.
“We ain’t got time for that!”
“Howling Commandoes never leave a man down!” He bellowed.
“That ain’t no man…”
“Then we don’t leave a lady down, neither,” He stood guard over her shattered torso and got out his Parade Ground Bellow. “NOW I GAVE YOU AN ORDER AND I NEVER GAVE IT TO HEAR MY TEETH CLICK! GET OUT THERE AND GET EVERY LAST NUT, BOLT, COG AND PINWHEEL YOU CAN SEE! I DON’T CARE IF YOU THINK ITS SHRAPNEL, WE GOT A SOLDIER DOWN AND WE’RE GONNA FIX HER! MOOVIT MOOVIT MOOVIT!”
Techie Paul landed last, but he’d definitely heard Steve.
The Japanese could have heard Steve. And they were on the other side of Russia from here.
“Wow. You g-g-g-g-g-got all that in one b-b-b-breath,” burbled Rabbit.
He knelt, still watchful and wary for the enemy. “At ease, soldier,” he soothed. “We’re gonna patch you up and then get moving.”
“Nev-nev-never walked home b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-before,” Rabbit sighed. “Some-somethin’ new…”
He took up her surviving hand in his own. Looked her in her mismatched eyes. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you some repair time. About getting you away from the war.”
“Won-won-won’t be mu-much,” said Rabbit. “We’re un-un-under c-c-c-c-c-contract.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Rabbit pulled herself up and kissed him.
Steve Rogers cleared his throat. “I have a girl back home,” he said, blushing.
"So do I,” Rabbit steamed a little. “It ain’t of-of-often folks t-t-t-t-treat me like folks. G-g-g-g-gotta be grateful y-y-y-y-ha know.”
He left her with Paul and promises that she would get back to a base that could help her ASAP.
And he didn’t see her again until well after the war. Years after his deep-freeze.
She’d lost the wigs he’d sent her. Or never got them. But at least they were letting her wear a dress. And she was back where she belonged… in the spotlight, and singing.
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